The Attic

If the attic could talk,
what stories would it tell?
Old clothes, ugly ties;
what’s that smell?

Boxes of pictures,
a dusty bike,
“we might need that lamp some day,”
presents we no longer like.

If the attic could read,
what stories would it tell?
Old love letters, report cards;
a trombone we meant to sell.

A life of collected fragments
sit covered in dust.
If the attic could rearrange the randomness
what would it say about us?